THE WOODLAND LIFE

An eldery ladyhas a special place where memories have been made down the years

The gentle wind blew between the woodland trees as though from Heaven. At least, that’s what old Aggie thought as she sat on a dead trunk of a long-fallen tree and sighed. She did a lot of sighing these days, but the she wasn’t called Old Aggie for nothing because even she had to admit to herself that the word old best described her’

This spot had always been special to her because it was the one place in her life that had hardly changed. It was almost exactly as she had always remembered it.

She sighed as memories of the sweet little girl she’d probably been flooded through her mind. Many were the times she and Suzie had found their way to the woodland, to this very spot, and tied one end of a long skipping rope round the trunk of a fragile tree and skipped together, one of them holding the loose end whilst the other skipping up and down when the rope was turned.

“I was a pretty little thing,” she sighed, “and so was Suzie, though my dresses were always better than hers…”

Had she seen the world like that? As if it was a competition to see who wore the newest or most expensive clothes? Surely not!

“If I could see her now I’d say how sorry I am for ever thinking that,” she said to herself, closing her eyes because if they stayed open the memories might make her cry and at eighty one she thought crying as terribly inappropriate. And in her mind’s eye it seemed that a shadow had formed itself into the very image of Suzie as she remembered her. They’d both been seven when Suzie and her family moved away. It had made her sad back then, ber best friend, her all time best-ever friend, at least that’s what she had thought back then.

The shadow in her mind sat near her on the rotting tree, and smiled at her.

But memories can move on and she smiled when Abby and she came to that same spot. They had a shared hobby because they’d been taught about hobbies at school by Miss Spencer and thought they ought to have one. She’d been ten and Abby and Aggie (they’d liked the similarities of their names) had started collecting things from nature, some to keep at their homes as treasures and some to take to school as examples of how interested they were in Miss Spencer’s nature lessons.

Miss Spencer had been one of a special new breed of teachers, not eternally middle-aged like some but young and some said flighty. She wore frocks that were so short Aggie could see almost all of her legs when she stood next to her and looked down at her work, and they were special legs. The skin had been smooth, and the dresses that terminated in hems well above her knees had been bright and clean. But much better than that was the love the young Aggie had felt for her.

“I’d have loved to have been her daughter,” thought Aggie, “she was full of interesting things to say and do, but she left our school because some parents complained about her. They said she was a disgrace. My mum was one of them and I never forgave her for thinking that and complaining to the bitter old headmistress, and I blamed mum for Miss Spencer going even when mum died as an old lady.

She closed her eyes again as Miss Spencer, her face sad, faced her in the class and told them all that she was leaving because some of them had parents who were trapped in the past. Aggie hadn’t understood it back then, but she did now.

Aggie’s mother had been trapped in the past. Why, when Aggie was ten her mum, her actual real mum, had slapped her legs when she heard her sing a song that was so popular everyone was singing it, about chewing gum losing its flavour on the bedpost over night. She’d said chewing gum was a disgusting habit and sticking it on furniture was worse than anything she could think of. With legs stinging Aggie had thought of quite a lot of thngs that were worse, like parents bullying their children.

Miss Spencer had come this way into the woods after she left, and had teased the two girls and given them a sweet each for being good.

“I kept that sweet uneaten and unwrapped for ages and ages,” remembered old Aggie. “It was a precious memory.”

That sweet had been a treasure, a memento, and she had collected things from nature for ages after that, until she’d gone to the grammar school.

The shadow of Miss Spencer sat on her rotting tree trunk as her eyes squeezed shut.

Then she smiled to herself.

She’d had a boyfriend when she was fifteen, and mum had sharply told her that boys could never be trusted to keep that was in their pants to themselves so be careful. She hadn’t known what the silly woman was on about until Colin came into her life, and showed her.

“It was silly thing for him to do and I barely noticed what he was flashing at me because I’d never seen anything like it before and I thought I must be seeing things,” she thought, and smiled at the memory.

But her life had been innocent back then. No, not inncent but ignorant. There was no logical reason for some things to be hidden away from her just because she was a girl. But she and Colin had come to this very spot and he’d even kissed her once or twice.

“I like you, Aggie,” he had said, and she had confessed that she liked him too because, heck, it was true. He’d been a well spoken and decent boy who only showed her the contents of his underwear that once, and then they had just been good solid friends.

Until he was called up at eighteen and went away to the army, and she had never seen him again. That had left a brief vacuum in her life until she made her monumental decision that she’d wait for him to come back home when his national service was over, and she had remained remarkably faithful to that decision until she’d met Peter. He’d been a one, had Peter, full of bright ideas about being in a pop group, one so similar to the Beatles it was as if he wanted to be a Beatle. He’d even got a guitar and learned to play it after a fashion, and brought it with him to this very space in the woods and sung romantic songs to her.

But the faux Beatles never arrived and instead she had married him, which he had seemed to think was the best thing for them to do. By then her promise to wait for Colin had gone to fairyland or wherever it as broken promises go, but that didn’t matter because she heard, soon after she married Peter, that Colin was dead. H’d been in a road accident, it seemed, and not come out of it alive.

She had shed a tear, and she found herself shedding one now as the memory found its way from the depth of her mind, and a shadow like Colin emerged from the gentle winds and set on the tree trunk with the other shadows.

And that had been her life. She’ come this way with Peter so many times they all merged into one, and then, one day, he had died himself, in this place, maybe whilst sitting on this very tree. He’d been, as he put it, out of puff, and needed to sit down. The ground would have done, anything, he just needed to take his weight off his old legs, but a fallen dead tree looked tempting.

She had sat down next to him, but he was motionless until he slumped against her. And he was still motionless, and getting cold.

“You silly chump,” she had said, tears in her eyes both then and now, ”you’re dead!”

She had imagined he’d replied that he knew, and then she had used her new mobile phone (she’d once swore she’d never have one of those things, they blight friendship, she had declared, but one turned out useful then.)

And they had taken Peter away, leaving her in the woodland, a gentle breeze blowing to her.

She looked around her. Her heart stopped when she noticed the little crowd sitting there with her: Suzie was there, and Abby, even Miss Spencer, and Colin… and, of course, Peter. And the gentle wind blew between the woodland trees as though from Heaven.

And she was there for a good fortnight, before an old dog fox, a stranger to those parts, found her and her entourage, and started feasting on her. She would have liked that.

© Peter Rogerson 17.05.23

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Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

Such a calm yet endearing journey through a young girl's life with its precious friendships plus that special place, ' This spot had always been special to her because it was the one place in her life that had hardly changed. It was almost exactly as she had always remembered it.'
You've added fine chitter chats with close observation, the past, present recollections creating mini Bios of certain people, for example, Miss Spencer.
Your time passed with such ease and led to seemingly off the cuff happenings, which, in turn turned to an ending that was unexpected yet somehow appropriate
I will pass a few days, then, return to read your story again because - I need and want to.

[Peter Rogerson]

Thanks for your observations. s time passes and age grabs hold of me I find myself reaching out to the simpler things in my memory/
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[emmajoygreen]

It's how to be, why let the negatives in, too many took hold in the past! One thing about memories is that they can, if wanted, be manoevred!
Take care, keep safe and smiiing, sir.